


Tell Me Something New

by ghostofgatsby



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Private School, Kissing, M/M, Not RPF, Romance, Skipping Class, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4698590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex Smith tries desperately to pay attention as the teacher at the front of the class drones on. It was his first day at his new private school, and already he was feeling apprehensive.<br/>Smith leans his chin on his hand as the teacher lectures on. It was only the second class of the day and already he’s tired.<br/>But there’s a knock at the door, and the teacher halts in his rambling.<br/>And in walks Ross Hornby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Something New

**Author's Note:**

> So many fics paint Smith as the bad boy but consider: bad boy Ross.  
> Ross being the troublemaker and Smith being the one sucked into trouble.  
> Inspired by rori-wolf's "Let's Skip Detention", which is on tumblr if you want to check that out.
> 
> stereotypical cheesy teenage romance  
> Skipping School Bad Boy Ross AU
> 
> cw: smoking, cursing as is common from HatFilms  
> If I need to tag anything else, let me know.
> 
> want to reblog? https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2015/10/21/tell-me-something-new-ghostofgatsby/

Smith tries desperately to pay attention as the teacher at the front of the class drones on about WWII. It would be interesting information, except he knows history in and out. He’s heard it a million times before, written papers and designed project boards. The teacher is so _boring_ , speaking in a dull tone with barely any enunciation to the words.

Smith sighs, and his eyes flick over to the window. The sun shines down onto the metallic air-conditioning units on top of the roof, and in the distance he can see birds flying from tree to tree.

His fingers pull at the blue and green striped tie around his neck. He kind of hates ties, the way the fabric sticks to his skin. He’d much rather wear just the button-down shirt, but the uniform requires a blazer or a sweater vest over it with a tie. Today Smith chose the blue argyle sweatervest that matches his socks. Luckily, he wasn’t the only one who wore it, meaning he didn’t feel like the nerdiest kid in class for once.

It was his first day at his new private school, and already he was feeling apprehensive. No one paid attention to him or gave him any trouble, but it was only the second class of the day. Smith was worried this new school would be just like the last- full of stuck up kids who berated anyone who didn’t fit in. He wasn’t popular, never had been, and his love of computers and music stuck him firmly in the outcast social realm.

Smith turns his gaze back to the front of the class. The teacher lectures on, and Smith leans his chin on his hand tiredly.

But there’s a knock at the door, and the teacher halts in his rambling.

“Come in.”

The door opens and another student steps inside. He’s dressed to break dress code, wearing a black leather jacket over his button down shirt, chuck taylors instead of dress shoes, and a loosened tie. His black hair is spiked up with gel, and a thin layer of stubble is on his face.

“Ah, Mr. Hornby. Nice of you to join us.”

The young man smirks.

“How about you take a seat back by Mr...Smith. Mr. Smith in the back there.”

The young man follows the teacher’s gesture and his gaze locks with Smith’s. His eyes are the color of ice water, and they send a shiver down Smith’s spine.

Smith looks away, to the empty seat next to him, and then down to his dog-eared textbook in front of him. He pretends to be engrossed in the words as the young man takes his seat.

The teacher starts droning on again, and Smith glances over at the student beside him. He’s slouching in his chair, hiding his phone in his lap and playing Tetris.

While “Hornby” is distracted, Smith takes the opportunity to look him over further. He’s got silver ear piercings in his ears, two hoops in the cartilage and a stud in the earlobe. Mid-Tetris game, he balances his phone on his leg and shucks his leather jacket. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular arms.

Smith looks away before he gets caught checking him out. He can hear his heart thumping in his ears as he stares down at the pictures in his textbook. Fuck, the guy was just Smith’s type...a bit rough around the edges, with that gentle sort of smile...

“Hey. Psst.”

Shit. Was that him whispering?

“Psst. New kid. Hey.”

Smith looks sideways. Hornby is looking over at him with an eyebrow raised and a fucking attractive smirk on his lips.

“What’d Winston Churchill ever do to you, mate?”

“What?” Smith whispers back, turning his head slightly towards the guy next to him. He glances up at the teacher at the front of the class, who has his back towards them, writing notes on the chalkboard.

“Winston Churchill. You were glaring at him like he’d personally offended you or something.” Hornby whispers, pointing at the book in front of Smith. “Got that big of a grudge?”

Smith can’t help but smile. “Not Churchill, just the caption. I know all about this fucker already, mate. Textbook should tell me something I don’t know.”

Hornby chuckles. “History buff, huh? This class must be useless as fuck for you, then.”

“Pretty much.” Smith nods.

Hornby turns to watch the teacher at the front. He picks his phone up from his lap and fires off a quick text, before turning his head back towards Smith.

“What do you say about getting out of here?” Hornby asks, grinning.

“What, skip class?”

“Hell yeah, the only thing this class is good for is sleeping or playing Tetris.”

The phone on the teacher’s desk rings, and he answers it. After an exchange of words, he hangs up and grabs his coat off the back of his desk chair.

“My apologies, class, but the office says I left the lights on in my car. Please excuse me while I go check. While I’m gone, read ahead on chapter six- we will be covering that material next.”

The minute he leaves the classroom, the students start talking instead of reading.

“Did you just...” Smith starts to say over the noise.

“Friends in high places, mate, friends in all kinds of places.” Hornby stands up from his seat and stretches with a groan, and Smith tries desperately not to stare at his stomach where his shirt is riding up.

“How about it, mate.” Hornby says, dropping his arms to his sides and holding out a hand to help Smith up. “Fancy getting out of here?”

Smith swallows thickly. He hopes he doesn’t look like a maniac the way a grin is spreading across his face. “S-Sure.” Smith takes his hand and pushes down his embarrassment.

_I didn’t stutter. I did not. I did no such thing._

“Great. M’ name’s Ross, by the way.” Ross grins back at Smith. His hand is warm in Smith’s grasp, and he holds it for a beat too long.

“Just call me Smith.” He replies, packing up his supplies. “Let’s go, before the teacher gets back. If we get caught, this is all on you.”

Ross laughs. “The key word there is ‘if.’”

 

* * *

 

Smith’s heart pounds in his chest as he follows Ross out of the building. They tromp through the woods at the back of the school, and a thrill runs through Smith’s veins. He isn't sure if that's from breaking the rules or being around Ross.

"What kind of music do you like?" Ross asks, barely watching where he's going while he pulls a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

Smith stumbles over a fallen log, slow and uncoordinated as he walks. "Um...bluegrass, folk, and Taylor Swift?" He winces, expects a laugh to bubble from Ross' lips.

"Huh. You don't seem the type." He says instead, tapping the pack into his palm and pulling out a cigarette between his teeth.

Smith shrugs and dusts the dirt off his hands. “I’m not a stereotypical Southern boy.”

Ross chuckles around the cigarette in his mouth and slows his walk to a standstill. He swaps the packet in his hands for a lighter. It's a slim, silver thing- fancy. He flicks the cap off, and with a click and a swoosh, lights the end of the cigarette in his mouth.

Smith watches the smoke curl off the end. The end of the paper burns orange as Ross inhales and stashes the lighter back in his pocket.

He draws the cig away between his fingers and exhales a breath of smoke. “That’s why I said you don’t seem the type.” Ross says, taking another drag from his cigarette. His ice blue eyes smolder like blue flame.

“What’s wrong with stereotypes?” Smith asks cheekily.

“Nothing wrong with _being_ a stereotype.” Ross answers, flicking his ash into the dirt path they’re walking. “Fuck knows I am one.” He licks his lips and grins.

Fuck, Smith shouldn't find that so attractive. The smoking is such a gross habit, but...with those lips and that smile...

Ross turns and leads further down the trail. "I'm a classic rock fan, personally." He continues, gesturing with the cigarette in his hand.

"That's a pretty broad category." Smith replies.

"I'm a broad kind of guy." Ross smirks at him over his shoulder, and takes another pull of his cigarette.

Smith chuckles, hides his grin at the look Ross had given him, and follows him further into the woods.

"What got you into folk music?" Ross asks, flicking ash into the dirt again.

"Family. Just grew up listening to it, learning how to play it."

"You play?"

"Guitar, yeah."

“Cool. I’m shit at it.” He laughs, and the sound is raucous in the stillness of the woods. “I tried learning a few years back, and I just couldn’t get a hang of it.”

Smith shrugs with a smile. “Just takes time. I could teach you.” The words slip out of his mouth before he can take them back. He half-hopes he doesn’t take him up on it. He can picture it already, Ross looking completely out of place in his parent’s immaculately designed house. Sitting sprawled on their couch with a cigarette dangling from his fingertips, looking him up and down with those piercing blue eyes of his...

“Do you sing at all?” Ross asks, blowing smoke out in a steady stream.

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“Pretty decently, I guess.” Smith watches his step as they climb stacks of stone, up overlooking a creek.

Ross sits down with a sigh and throws his feet over the edge of the rock. He leans back on his hands. Smoke curls up from the cigarette between his fingers.

“That’s really neat, you know.” Ross admits, staring out into the trees. “I always admire people who have that kind of talent.”

“Thanks.” Smith rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, standing a few feet behind Ross.

“You can sit down, Smith. I’ll put this out if it’s bothering you.” Ross gestures with the cigarette in his fingers and takes another pull.

Smith sits down beside him, watches the embers burn on the end of the paper. “Why do you smoke, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Ross coughs once, and then chuckles sadly. “Can’t exactly quit, can I.” He murmurs, eyes dark and pained.

He doesn’t say anything after that, and Smith feels ashamed at ruining the mood. “Sorry.” He apologizes. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright.” Ross replies. He stares down at the cigarette between his fingertips. “You were curious, I can’t blame you.”

They sit and listen to the water rushing over the rocks and the birdsong lilting in the air. Ross finishes his cigarette, stubbing it out on the rock beneath them. He flicks the stub into the water, and there’s a short hiss as the flame inside is extinguished.

“What made you come out here with me?” Ross asks, meeting Smith’s eyes again.

“I don’t know. There was just something about you.” Smith confesses.

“Something about me?” Ross smirks.

Smith shrugs and looks away, feeling his face heat up. “What made you ask me?” He counters.

“I don’t know.” Ross imitates thoughtfully. “There was just something about you.”

“And what would that be?” Smith scuffs the heel of his shoe on the stone distractedly.

He looks up when he doesn’t get a response, and finds Ross watching him with a small smile on his face.

“Do you want the honest answer or the tame version?” Ross asks sultrily, smile widening into a grin.

Smith swallows thickly. He feels too hot in this uniform. His sweater vest is keeping the heat trapped in his clothes.

“Uh...the honest version?”

Ross chuckles and looks away, pulling at a loose string on the hem of his shirt. “I think you’re pretty cute.”

_Cute? He thinks I’m cute?!_

Smith stares at Ross in shock. What the fuck is in his stomach, because he’s flabbergasted and it feels like there’s a whole acrobatics team in there. Something inside him is playing his heart like a bass drum.

This attractive guy in front of him just said he was cute. Unbelievable.

Ross must see the look on his face out of the corner of his eye, because he bites his lip. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have... Look, if I made you feel uncomfortable-”

“You think I’m cute?” Smith interrupts.

Ross looks over at him shyly. “Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

He laughs.

“I mean- I don’t get it- I’m _me_.”

Ross laughs again. “But you’re adorable, come on.”

“Have you _seen_ yourself? _Do you look in the mirror?_ ” Smith insists while Ross laughs more. “Because- just, _you_. _You’re_ cute, not...me.” He looks away, chuckling nervously at his frazzled confession and rubbing the back of his neck.

“We could both be cute. There’s enough cuteness to share between the two of us.” Ross offers.

Smith chuckles back. “Yeah. Sure.” He looks up at him with a smile at the crook of his mouth.

Ross smiles back, but bites his lip. “Would you be terribly offended if I asked to kiss you?”

Smith grins. “Fuck, not at all. Please do.” His face must be bright red but his grin is dazzling.

Ross giggles, scoots closer. “ _Can_ I kiss you, then?”

“Yeah.” He can’t stop smiling

“Bet you never thought you’d be making out with some random guy in the woods on your first day of school.”

Smith laughs. “Shit, if I knew that, I would have looked forward to it.”

It’s not Smith’s first kiss, not by a longshot, but this is one for the books. Ross’ hand is warm on Smith’s shoulder, heat melting through the thin cotton of his dress shirt. His lips are just the right softness, brushing his cheek. The feel of them meeting Smith’s in a kiss has enough pressure to make Smith feel dumb-struck.

“You taste like smoke.” Smith murmurs, eyes half-lidded when they part after kissing for several minutes.

“Sorry.” Ross apologizes, nuzzling Smith’s cheek. His stubble is rough and scratchy.

“It’s alright.” Smith assures, capturing Ross’ lips in a kiss again. “I’m into it.”

“That’s good.” Ross smirks. “Because I’m into you.”

 


End file.
